


What does it take to impress you

by Ice_Rain



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 01, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, It's Soft, Kissing, M/M, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, Secret Santa, Theater Nerd Eliot Waugh, like really soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Rain/pseuds/Ice_Rain
Summary: Candy canes, Eliot thinks, may be the single greatest part of the holiday season. He never used to be a huge fan of them. It’s like taking one of those sad, after-dinner peppermints you get from restaurants and elongating it for no discernible reason. At least until now. Because now, the key benefit of the candy cane’s ridiculous shape has become abundantly clear: Quentin Coldwater’s mouth.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 24
Kudos: 160





	What does it take to impress you

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to kick off the holiday season with a somewhat Christmas-themed fic! In this universe, Brakebills South doesn't happen until the second semester.

Candy canes, Eliot thinks, may be the single greatest part of the holiday season. He never used to be a huge fan of them. It’s like taking one of those sad, after-dinner peppermints you get from restaurants and elongating it for no discernible reason. At least until now. Because now, the key benefit of the candy cane’s ridiculous shape has become abundantly clear: Quentin Coldwater’s mouth.

Eliot is lying draped across Margo’s lap, staring not-so-subtly at Quentin on the couch across from them. It’s not like Quentin’s paying attention anyway. He’s fully absorbed in a textbook, while his candy cane is fully absorbed in his mouth. And Eliot means _fully_. He’s trying to create a 3D visualization in his head of where that candy cane must be in Quentin’s throat right now. He’s been sucking on it for less than a minute, so it can’t have lost much of its length. And yet, Quentin’s stuck it so far inside his mouth that the curved part is hitting his cheek. More than that, he’s rotated the goddamn thing to get it even further back than should be possible.

Quentin pulls it most of the way out for a second, opens his mouth ever so slightly, and slides it back again, his lips closing around it almost in slow motion. Jesus fuck. Eliot’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. He looks up at Margo, as if she can save him from this completely unfair display, but she just grins and cocks an eyebrow. 

“Are we doing a holiday party?” Kady asks. Right. There are other people in the room besides just Margo, Quentin, and Quentin’s candy cane.

“Of course, any excuse to get drunk off eggnog and you can guarantee me and El are all over it.”

“Ooh, is there a gift exchange?” Julia asks. “The Knowledge students are doing a stocking thing, but for the party here… what about a White Elephant exchange?”

“God, a White Elephant with magicians is just asking for trouble,” Alice says. “My parents hosted one once, and half the people brought cursed objects as a joke. It turned into a game of hot potato, only you had to figure out which things were potatoes.”

“Ok, I gotta admit, that sounds kind of fun,” Penny says.

“Yeah well, maybe the belt that caused a 4-hour boner, but the stuffed crab that gave anyone who touched it crabs was kind of pushing it…” 

“Jesus,” Eliot says.

“Ok, so no White Elephant,” Margo waves her hand dismissively. “What about a Secret Santa? It’s classic. Everyone gets one gift for one specific person. Easy.” The group hums in agreement.

And so the next day, for the second time in his life, Eliot finds himself opening a piece of paper to read the name ‘Quentin Coldwater’ written out in neat script. His reaction is a mixture of excitement with an undercurrent of alarm. See, Eliot’s actually excited for an excuse to get Quentin a gift. It’s a chance to give him something that will really make him smile, that will show him how thoughtful Eliot can be. God knows Eliot doesn’t mind going a bit overboard when it comes to things like this. But then, this is _Quentin_. He can’t fuck this up. He’s gotten to know Q pretty well this semester, so there’s a certain expectation there. He needs to come up with something perfect.

Margo, who’d insisted on being in charge of the name-picking process, is watching all of these emotions play out on his face with a raised eyebrow. He opens his mouth to say, “Bambi, will you – “

“Nuh-uh, it’s _Secret_ Santa. No take-backsies, and I don’t wanna know who you got. Everyone thinks ‘oh, I’ll just tell one person’ and pretty soon everyone knows who everybody has by process of elimination.”

“But –“

“Nope.”

Eliot’s eyes dart around to the few people milling around the room. Finally, he pulls her by the arm into the nook for some privacy. “I got _Quentin_. And I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t… if I didn’t really need help.”

Her eyes widen a bit. “You are so gone for that boy.”

“Shut up. I just need something he’ll really like. He loves that Fillory stuff, and you’re always talking to him about it. Any ideas?”

She puts her finger to her lip in concentration. “There’s one gift he’d definitely enjoy.”

“What is it?” He asks excitedly.

“Your dick.”

“Margo –“

“El, I’m serious. He stares at you practically any time you’re not looking. The other day when you rolled up your sleeves to knead that pizza dough, he looked like he was gonna jizz himself just from the sight of your forearms.”

He sighs. “As much as I appreciate the support, I can tell when someone likes me, ok? And sure, there’s a bit of flirtatious energy to our friendship. I’ll give you that. But it’s not like… he doesn’t… Can you please just help me with a gift?”

Margo starts to open her mouth.

“No sex toys, either,” he adds, to which Margo shuts her mouth and pouts.

“Fine, Fillory it is. You know, you might consider actually reading the books. At least the first one. They’re good, and it’s something Q really cares about. He’d totally appreciate it. And you know him better than me – I bet you’ll be able to find something in there that’s giftable.”

“Hmm. You might be onto something there.” She really is right. Those books are so important to Quentin. They might not be Eliot’s thing exactly, but he’s always up for new experiences. Nominally. Plus he can’t wait to see the look on Quentin’s face when he finds out he’s read them. 

“What ever would I do without you, Bambi,” he says, taking her in his arms and spinning her around. She giggles.

“You’d be an absolute mess, that’s what.”

He hums in agreement and kisses her forehead.

\--

The World in the Walls ends up being pretty enjoyable. Eliot can definitely see how someone could get really invested in the series. As predicted, he doesn’t think that someone is going to be him, but he can still certainly appreciate the book’s quality. As he was reading through the copy Margo lent him, he’d kept a bulleted list of ideas for possible gifts. As he finishes the last chapter, he jots down one more bullet and looks over the list:

  * Enchant a stuffed animal to talk (PROBLEM: last year’s sentient couch disaster)
  * Obtain fancy British watches, glue to trees
  * Make him a crown - he would look so cute
  * Cave of riddles – trap him in a cave and make him solve math problems to get out
  * Cozy Horse –make a rocking horse Very Big (how?)



The ideas… need some development. But then a thought comes to him. Eliot’s always gotten the sense that, for Quentin, his love of Fillory isn’t about any specific thing in the books. It’s about the feeling of escaping into a whole other world. And Eliot gets that now, after reading it. What Fillory meant to Rupert and Jane and Martin, it means something similar to Q. He has a lot of work to do. And a favor to call in from the Illusion kid he covered for when Sunderland caught him sneaking magic mushrooms out of the greenhouse.

\---

“Ok, how are we doing this?” Kady asks. They’re all standing around in roughly a circle, most people holding gift bags of various sizes.

“We could have this side of the room give their gifts first, and then do the other side?” Quentin suggests. “Oh, but that doesn’t work if people on this side have each other…”

“There must be an optimal way to do this,” Alice says, strutting over to the chalkboard. “If we split the gift giving into different rounds, with the assumption that you can’t give a gift in the same round that you’re receiving one…” She starts drawing a diagram. Christ. “We can take a greedy approach to maximize the number of people giving gifts in the first round and then –“

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Margo groans. “It’s not that complicated, just start giving the damn gifts.”

People begin milling around, relieved to be freed from Alice’s lecture on the perfect Secret Santa exchange algorithm. Eliot heads over to Quentin, a bit nervous, but mostly just excited.

“So, I couldn’t exactly wrap up your gift. Come with me upstairs?” If Margo heard that phrasing, she’d never let it go.

“Oh, you drew my name? That’s funny, I uh… I got you, too.” Oh. Well that should be interesting. Eliot’s gotten a lot of bad Christmas gifts before. He’d just been expecting to get a bad tie from someone that he’d be socially obligated to wear at least once. But now, he's actually kind of excited to get his gift.

“But yeah, you go first,” Quentin says. 

Eliot leads them up to the Trunk Room, a largely forgotten space in the Cottage where people can store things over the summer. Mostly it’s cluttered full of forgotten junk left by alums from decades past. Eliot’s not sure he’s ever seen someone use it since he’s been at Brakebills. He’d spent some time the past week clearing out a corner of the room for Quentin’s present.

As soon as they enter, Quentin’s eyes snap right towards the gift. It’s a dark wooden grandfather clock with a carving of two rams on top, for Ember and Umber. “Oh my God, is this…” Quentin runs up to the clock, running his hands over it.

“It’s not the original one. It’s not even a replica, exactly. It’s illusion magic, but it’s a pretty strong spell. The visuals will last for years, and the tactile part should hold for a few months at least, to make it feel real when you touch it. And I can teach you the tune-up spell for when that wears out. I um, tried to follow the description in the books as best as I could. I hope it’s close enough.”

“Eliot, this is… this is amazing.”

Eliot grins. “That’s not all. Care to take a trip to Fillory, Mr. Chatwin?”

“No. What did you…” Quentin slowly opens the clock’s door and gasps at what he sees. They step out into a forest, tall trees surrounding them in every direction.

“So it’s not Fillory, obviously. I used to come here sometimes, last year. I found it when I was wandering around outside of campus. Brakebills is in the middle of nowhere, and most of the surrounding forest is pretty shitty. But this little clearing seemed kind of special. And I thought, maybe it could be your place. You know, if you ever need an escape.”

Eliot turns back to look at Quentin, and he actually looks like he might cry. That’s… Eliot was going for sentimental with his gift, but he didn’t actually expect it to work so well. Quentin pulls him into a fiercely tight hug.

“This is… El…” He starts laughing into Eliot’s shoulder. “God, my gift is gonna seem so lame now in comparison, how can I even follow this?”

“Hey, I will happily accept any and all dildos you've bought for me.” Quentin laughs again and pulls away.

“Ok so… I haven’t heard you talk about it that much, but Margo said you really like musicals. And that you guys were gonna go to Broadway last year but then you couldn’t. She uh… said something about an unexpected goose situation? I didn’t get it. But anyway, I thought you guys could go together this year.”

He hands Eliot an envelope and waits for a reaction, his eyes wide and hopeful. He’s so goddamn precious. Eliot opens the envelope to pull out two tickets for _Wicked_ , the show they were going to see last year before Brakebills South came and ruined far more than just those particular plans. He’s listened to the soundtrack dozens of times and has always wanted to see it live.

“She said you should be free then, but if you’re not I might be able to change the tickets…” Eliot looks at the date listed - December 20th, just a few days away. The one day Margo’s going to be gone visiting some old college friend. Oh, Bambi. He really owes her for this. 

“Or, _we_ could go,” he says, immediately slipping into the role she’s carved out for him. Quentin tilts his head questioningly. “Margo’s been to plenty of these types of things before, I think she was just agreeing to go last year for my benefit. But you’ve never been, yeah?”

“Yeah, but… then I’d kind of feel like I just got a present for myself.”

“Nonsense, it’s my gift and I want you there. I want to show you everything the theater has to offer. It’ll be fun.” He’s really, really hoping he’ll agree to come. A day in New York City alone with Quentin? At Christmas time? Fuck yes.

“Ok, sure. Yeah I’ll… I’ll go.” Eliot gives him a bright smile and hooks his arm around his shoulder as they start walking back to the portal.

“Excellent. Clear your schedule for tomorrow, we need to coordinate outfits!”

Quentin rolls his eyes. “You do realize my entire wardrobe is like, all different shades of gray. I don’t think it’s even possible for me to clash with anything.”

“Hey, I have definitely seen you wear at least one blue shirt.” Not that he remembers everything Quentin wears. It’s just that shirt happened to be particularly… well fitted. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We are going to look dazzling together. Festive, but not tacky. Elegant, but not trying too hard. We must strike the perfect balance.”

\--

When the evening of the musical arrives, Quentin meets him downstairs dressed in the red sweater Eliot rescued from the back of his closet over a white shirt with the collar peeking out. He looks so cozy, Eliot just wants to cuddle up next to him with a cup of hot chocolate. But they have places to go, a musical to see. Eliot’s in a red vest to match with a silver tie.

They take the New York City portal, which actually gets them pretty close to Broadway. Eliot steers them toward a small Italian restaurant he went to once with Margo. He intends to take full advantage of a night where he has Quentin all to himself, and this place has the perfect vibe. It’s right on the edge of nice enough for a romantic evening, but could also totally pass as an ordinary restaurant for two friends enjoying their evening out in the city.

“So I was doing some research about Wicked – “

“Of course you were,” Eliot says fondly as they sit down.

“ – and so, apparently when it first came out, they used an actual levitation spell for Defying Gravity. I guess they were like, trying to stay on a budget at the time and it was just easier? But then people started talking about how realistic it looked and it got more attention than they wanted, so they had to go back to like, using standard wires and all that.”

“Why can’t we ever get alums who are doing interesting things like that for mentors. I’d kill for a mentor who worked in theater. If I have to listen to one more pediatrist or security guard ramble on and on about God knows what...”

“Security guard could be interesting actually. There must be like, magicians who plan out master heists. Actually yeah, how do museums prevent magicians from just stealing shit?”

“A very interesting observation,” Eliot says thoughtfully. “So it’s settled. We drop out and become jewel thieves. I’m sure Margo will want in.”

“Oh, definitely. We need her to be the mastermind behind the whole thing.”

“Hmm, and what will we be, then?”

“Well, you could easily be the distraction. Flirt with any of the security guards and the coast would be clear as long as we’d need.”

Eliot leans forward. “Oh, and why is that?”

It’s hard to tell with the restaurant’s lighting, but Eliot could swear Quentin is blushing. “Oh, just. Not that you don’t have like, other talents, obviously. Just. You’re good at it. You know, flirting. Charming people.”

“Mhm…” Eliot doesn’t even try to hide his smile, but decides to let Quentin off easy. “Well, I think you’d be excellent as the person who actually grabs the thing. You’d probably fail at the whole stealth part – “

“Hey!”

“- but show anyone who catches you your big puppy-dog eyes, and they’d never believe you could’ve done anything wrong.” 

Quentin smiles. “Oh, you mean like this?” And he does a hilariously over-exaggerated version of a puppy-dog face, lower lip pouting out and eyes so wide he could pass for a creepy twin in a horror movie.

“God, give anyone that look and you’ll scare them out of the building. Which _is_ another strategy that would work in this context.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Quentin says, throwing a napkin across the table at Eliot as they burst out laughing.

A waiter clears his throat at the side of their table. “Can I get you gentlemen any drinks, to start?”

\---

“These are really good seats, how did you get these so last minute?” They’ve made it to the theater with a few minutes to spare, and are just getting settled in row K of the center section of the Orchestra.

“I may have done a tiny luck charm on one of those ticket lotteries. You’d think they’d have it warded.”

It’s not long before the show gets started. There’s something about live theater that always makes Eliot feel all kinds of emotions he just doesn’t get from movies or TV shows. He must have listened to Defying Gravity over fifty times before, but it’s a completely different experience to watch the actual performance. He’s wiping away tears as quickly as he can when the house lights come on for intermission.

“You good?” Quentin asks, looking fondly amused.

“Oh, fine,” Eliot says as casually as he can manage.

“Uh-huh,” Quentin grins widely. “Well I’m gonna head to the bathroom. Try not to get tears on everyone in our row.” Quentin puts his hand on Eliot’s thigh and squeezes before standing up and shuffling out to the aisle, which… Eliot’s going to try not to think about that too hard. 

The rest of the show is amazing, as expected. Eliot was looking forward to his personal favorite song, _For Good_ , and it did not disappoint.

“So what’d you think?” Quentin asks after they get far enough away from the crowd to have an audible conversation.

And Eliot, well… He’s riding a lot of emotions from the show, about love and friendship, and he can’t help but pull Quentin into a hug right there. “I loved it. Thank you for getting these tickets. And for coming with me.”

Quentin looks bemused when he pulls away, which is only fair. Eliot’s not usually so direct when telling people what they mean to him. But it’s Christmas time, and this is Quentin, and Eliot’s allowed to be sentimental once in a while goddammit.

“Although,” he continues, not wanting to stay in that moment too long, “I did think Fiyero’s singing was a little bit over the top at times.”

Quentin visibly relaxes. “Well, if anyone would know over the top…” Eliot hits him lightly on the arm. 

When they leave the theater, the cold sweeps over them immediately. Quentin pulls his arms across his body and shivers.

“Need me to warm you up, Coldwater?” Eliot teases, reaching over to hug him from the side. Because who would Eliot be without throwing in some ridiculous flirting. 

“Shut up, I’m fine,” he says, rolling his eyes and playfully shoving Eliot off of him. But he doesn’t quite manage to keep the grin off his face. Eliot keeps one arm around Quentin, steering him towards the intersection.

“Wait, didn’t we get here from the other direction?”

“Please, we’re in New York City. There’s no way we’re leaving without me taking you to my favorite bar.”

“Ooh, Eliot Waugh’s favorite bar. I can’t even imagine what it’s done to deserve that title.” As they wait for the light to turn, Quentin leans into Eliot and rests his head against his shoulder. Eliot swallows. Quentin must just be tired. Or cold. Or both.

“You’ll see,” he says, unable to keep the corners of his lips from curving up. It is one of his favorite bars for sure, but he has a few of those in New York. This one in particular, though, he’s pretty sure Quentin’s going to love.

Eliot stops in front of a dark office building with the shades pulled down over all the windows.

“Meledora’s Administrative Offices?” Quentin says, squinting to read the sign.

“Do a Mann reveal.”

Quentin goes through the motions, making a square with his fingers, and his face lights up at what he sees. “Magician bar,” Eliot says casually. “Let’s go.”

“You know I’ve never actually been to a Magician bar. Or a Magician anything really, outside of Brakebills.”

“Well, guess tonight’s your night.”

The inside of the bar is striking. There are orbs of different colored lights floating throughout the room, the ceiling shows a perfectly clear view of the night sky, despite being in New York City, and the floor looks and feels like walking on a cloud. But Eliot isn’t looking at any of that. He’s looking at Quentin.

“Wow.” Quentin says. “This is… this is incredible.”

Eliot smiles and tips his head toward a free table. “Come on, wait ‘til you see the drinks.”

They sit down at the table, which has a small rounded booth around it on one side. They’re not exactly sitting next to each other, but they’re not quite across from each other either. The drink menu itself isn’t too out of the ordinary. Sure, a lot of the ingredients are exclusive to magicians, and there are some pretty interesting flavor profiles. But Eliot doesn’t think there’s much hope of conveying any of that properly to Quentin – he probably wouldn’t recognize most of the ingredients listed on a normal drink menu anyway. In any case, what this bar really excels at is presentation.

Quentin’s drink comes in a clear goblet, the liquid primarily light purple with striking rainbow veins swirling throughout. Hovering about an inch above it is a cloud sprinkling tiny snowflakes onto the glass.

“Woah,” Quentin says. “How did they do this?”

“It’s a miniaturized weather suspension spell. You’ll learn a variant next year.”

Quentin grabs ahold of the small stirrer included with the drink and stirs delicately, watching the rainbow veins swell and change the main color of the drink to an emerald green. Quentin giggles.

“What?” Eliot asks.

“Nothing it’s just… it reminds me of a scene in the first Fillory book. Martin finds this pool of water in this cave, right, and he has to figure out how to turn it green to open this door – “

“And it turns out all he needs to do is make it _look_ green, so he uses the reflection of his jacket,” Eliot finishes.

“Wait, you’ve read the books?”

“Well, just the first one. Had to do my research for your present, after all.”

Quentin goes still. “El… you read the book… so you could figure out what to get me for a present?”

Well, shit. He’s been caught. “Margo’s been nagging me to read them forever. Just seemed like the time had finally come, is all,” Eliot says, quickly taking a gulp from his drink. “Anyway, so uh, you like the bar?” 

“I… Eliot…” And before Eliot realizes what’s happening, Quentin is kissing him. And Eliot’s brain completely short circuits. He’s so shocked he doesn’t even remember what the mechanics of kissing are. It’s not that Eliot wasn’t hoping something like this might happen tonight. But it seemed far too unrealistic to even consider as a possibility. Especially Quentin initiating. No, Eliot’s highest hopes for tonight had basically been to use the cold as an excuse for a bit more physical contact than usual. To see Quentin really smile and watch his eyes light up. To maybe engage in some heavier-than-usual flirting to try and figure out if there was any chance of something more than friendship eventually. He was not expecting, under any circumstances, Quentin to grab his tie and kiss him practically out of nowhere. 

Quentin pulls away after a moment, before Eliot’s brain catches up enough to move his body in anything resembling a response. As he stares at Quentin while failing to say anything, he knows he must look like the living and breathing incarnation of the shocked Pikachu meme.

“Sorry, I thought… it just seemed like… fuck.” Quentin is somehow simultaneously tucking strands of hair behind his ear while also actively hiding behind it.

“Kiss me again.”

Quentin stills immediately. “What?” It’s barely a whisper, his eyes wide.

“I said, kiss me again.”

Quentin tentatively brings his hand to Eliot’s face, touching it lightly. A beat passes while they just stare directly at each other, and to Eliot it’s like time is on pause. And he actually knows what that feels like – he took an elective in horomancy. Then all at once they’re barreling into each other, lips crashing together. Eliot brings both hands to Quentin’s head and buries them in his hair. It’s all the sexual tension from the night trying to release itself at once, and it’s more than Eliot knows what to do with. He just wants to pull Quentin into his lap, rub his hands over his skin underneath his sweater, grind against him until it drives both of them insane.

He’s vaguely aware of the unfortunate fact that they’re in public, and Eliot would rather not have to deal with getting kicked out for indecency. But he would also really rather not have to stop what’s happening right now. 

“Eliot,” Quentin somehow manages to gasp out in a nearly nonexistent break from the kiss. His hand reaches down to grab Eliot’s thigh and starts sliding up, up…

“ _Fuck_. Ok, um,” Eliot pulls fully away and runs his hands through his hair in a frenzy. “I think we’ve seen enough of this bar, yeah?”

Quentin nods vigorously. Eliot shoots out of his chair to go pay their bill, and a minute later they’re outside on the sidewalk.

“So how far exactly is the portal?”

“Not far, just five blocks.”

Quentin nods, and they start walking in silence. Speed-walking, really. Five blocks isn’t far, but it is enough time for it to be kind of weird to not say anything to each other. Especially after _that_. But Eliot’s too flustered to find any words.

While they wait at the first intersection, he hesitantly brushes some hair out of Quentin’s face, needing to touch him again. But he freezes at the look Quentin gives him. It’s a mixture of lust and helplessness and intensity, and Eliot just cannot. He sucks in a breath and pulls his hand away quickly, because any more of that and they aren’t even going to make it to the portal.

When they get back to Brakebills, all they have to do is make it down the hallway to Eliot’s room. But, of course, they run right into Margo on the way.

“So how was it?”

“Oh, you know,” Eliot says quickly. “Good. It was good.” They are literally 20 feet and one wall away from being able to fuck in peace.

“Just good? Your first Broadway show and that’s all you have to say? Come on, I need details.” Quentin is rocking back and forth awkwardly on his heels.

“Margo,” Eliot throws as much meaning into the look he gives her as he possibly can. “Why don’t I tell you about it later?”

She looks between the two of them, realization dawning, and smiles wickedly. “Ok, El. I’m sure you’re tired.” Just when he thinks she’s finally going to leave them be, she says, all fake innocence, “What about you, Quentin? Want to join me for a few drinks?”

“Oh, um. No, I’m uh. Tired too.”

“Mmhmm, I’m sure. Well don’t let me get in your way.” But she just continues to stand there. Eliot’s room, which might as well be Paradise Falls for how long it’s taking them to get there, is right in front of them. But Quentin would have to go in the opposite direction to get to his own room. Goddamn her. Eliot tries to think of something to say to avoid embarrassing Quentin, but he actually jumps in first.

“Well, uh. Eliot said he’d show me something in his room, so we’re just gonna…” And without further ado, he grabs Eliot by the hand and pulls him along. Margo starts hysterically laughing.

“Yeah, I’ll bet he’s got something to show you.” 

They make it inside, finally, closing the door behind them. Eliot feels strangely… nervous? Which is unusual. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it. He heads over to sit on the edge of his bed, with Quentin following close behind.

“Uh… hi,” Quentin says, looking adorably bashful. He grabs Eliot’s hand and starts moving his thumb in gentle circles over his wrist.

“Hi,” Eliot says, knowing that even if Quentin couldn’t see him, he’d be able to hear the smile in his voice. They both start leaning in at the same time, and it’s a little awkward for a second, both of them hesitating. But finally their lips meet, and it’s like coming up for air for the first time since the bar. 

Quentin is so responsive, happy to follow exactly where Eliot leads. They kiss like that for a long time. Like, a _long_ time. Eliot can’t remember ever just making out with someone for this long before. Especially someone he already has in his bed. But it’s so nice. He almost doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to have to move his lips away from Quentin’s. He just wants to be close to him like this, as close as possible. But there’s no doubt that things are slowly escalating, and even though part of Eliot kind of just wants to stay like this, he’s not sure that’s going to be particularly doable for much longer.

“I want to make you feel good,” Quentin says, nuzzling – yes, _nuzzling_ , like a fucking kitten – against Eliot’s cheek. “Tell me how. Tell me what you want.”

“I –“ Eliot’s voice manages to break on that single syllable. He swallows and tries again. “Can you – my nipples are really sensitive if you… if you want to… “

And Quentin doesn’t need to be told twice. He immediately starts unbuttoning Eliot’s shirt, and Eliot shrugs it off. Quentin presses lightly on his chest and Eliot grins, perfectly content to follow Q’s lead, letting him push him down onto his back. Quentin straddles his hips, leaning down to press eager kisses across his neck and chest. 

His tongue darts out to circle around the very outside of his left nipple, and Eliot whimpers, immediately wanting more. He teases there for another few moments before finally putting his mouth all the way around and sucking lightly.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” he says mindlessly, grabbing Quentin’s hair and tugging.

“ _Fuck, Eliot_. You can pull harder.” This man is actually going to be the death of him.

He pulls and pulls. He loves Quentin’s hair. It’s soft and long enough to bury his hands in. But the best thing about it is the reaction Quentin has at even the lightest tug. It’s causing small sounds to escape from him that he doesn’t even seem to process, and this might be Eliot’s new favorite thing.

Quentin’s moved onto the other nipple, sucking harder and nibbling around gently, and it’s all too much.

“Quentin, please. Please touch me. I need – fuck. _Please_ Q.” He’s begging. Eliot _never_ begs, not like this. Not anywhere near like this. But he’s out of his goddamn mind right now and he can’t think about anything besides the aching need for _more Quentin God please_.

It’s a team effort to get Eliot’s pants off, and when Eliot’s cock springs free he sees Quentin’s eyes widen, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Can I… can I use my mouth on you?”

“Oh my God. Fuck yes. But wait, first I wanna see you. Can you take this off for me?” He tugs lightly on Quentin’s sweater, helping him get it over his head, and then sets to work unbuttoning the shirt underneath. He finally gets it off, getting to see Quentin’s chest. He’s really more muscular than you’d think looking at him, and there’s a perfect dusting of chest hair that Eliot finds absolutely delightful. He leans up for a kiss and Quentin obliges, their tongues tangling together in a desperate and futile attempt to somehow bring them closer together than they already are.

Quentin pulls away and trails light kisses over Eliot’s thighs, getting frustratingly close to his dick without actually touching it.

“Fuck, Coldwater, I didn’t realize you were such a tease.”

“I just want to take my time, that’s all,” he says. But he relents, finally bringing his tongue to lick around the head of Eliot’s cock.

“Oh _shit_ , that feels good,” Eliot says, his hips already bucking upwards. Quentin wraps his lips all the way around and starts slowly taking more into his mouth. And even just watching this… it’s so much better than the candy cane, God. This man’s mouth was fucking made for this. He starts to move his mouth in a slow rhythm, inching further forward each time.

Now, Eliot is well aware that he’s not exactly lacking in the size department. Most people he’s with don’t manage to take all of his cock in their mouth, and he’s perfectly fine with that. It doesn’t draw much away from the sensations, in any case. But he’d be lying to say he didn’t find deepthroating sexy as hell.

Suddenly Quentin gags and takes his mouth away, coughing a few times.

“Hey, it’s ok, sweetheart don’t hurt yourself.” Shit. _Sweetheart_? Eliot is no stranger to using pet names in bed. But it’s usually baby, babe, even darling on occasion. But sweetheart… that is not a part of his typical repertoire. Fortunately, Quentin doesn’t seem to notice anything is out of the ordinary. 

“No, I can take it further. I just need a sec. I wanna feel it in my throat, get it all the way back.”

Ok. Yeah, ok, that does it. Eliot is gone. He’s never come before from words alone, but that brings him pretty damn close.

Quentin takes him back in his mouth, and he feels his orgasm building with surprising urgency.

“Wait. Hold on Q, I’m close,” he gasps out.

“Good,” Quentin says. “I wanna make you come in my mouth.”

“Ok, ok, holy shit. Q, wait I haven’t – _ah_ _fuck_ – I haven’t touched you yet.”

“Don’t care. Eliot, I need to feel you. Taste you. Please?” He looks up at Eliot for permission, all puppy-dog eyes, and Eliot… it’s all he can do to bite his lip and nod. When Quentin wraps his mouth around him again, he comes almost instantly.

“What the fuck. What the _fuck,_ ” he shouts as the release hits him. It’s intense and sudden and Eliot feels completely out of control of his body, how he’s moving, what he’s saying. Because this goes beyond just an orgasm. There’s another feeling there that’s not unfamiliar to him since meeting Quentin, and it intensifies tenfold now as he looks into his warm, gorgeous brown eyes.

“Come here,” he says when he calms down enough to have coherent thoughts. Why is Quentin so far away? He’s all the way over _there_ , and he needs to be right _here_ , tucked up tight against Eliot’s body so he can hold him. Quentin crawls up to Eliot and kisses him, and Eliot immediately brushes his hand over his cock through his pants.

“So uh… I… this isn’t gonna take long, I’m like. Really fucking close. Can you just jerk me off?”

“Whatever you want, Q. Anything you want.” He kisses him again while unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down just enough to release Quentin’s cock. He breaks away just for a second to get a look at it, seeing a generous amount of precome coating the tip and leaking up onto his stomach.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and then kisses him again. God, this man’s mouth is just not fair.

He moves his hand slowly over Quentin’s dick. There’s a decent amount of lubrication there already, but he does a quick tut to gather the moisture from the air to help out. And Quentin is… he is _reacting_. He’s whining loudly, and his hips are making stuttered movements, and his hands are all over Eliot’s head and neck and back. And he wasn’t wrong. It takes probably just over a minute before he’s coming, his whole body shaking on a broken, beautiful moan. And despite having just come, Eliot’s dick is putting in a valiant effort to attempt getting hard again. 

Without even breaking away, Eliot does a one-handed cleaning spell as they keep kissing. He gently maneuvers Quentin onto his back and just starts putting his mouth everywhere. His neck, his nose, his chest, his stomach. He’s like a man possessed, high on oxytocin and unable to stop himself. He can’t get enough of _Quentin Quentin Quentin_.

And for his part, Q lays back and plays with Eliot’s hair, sighing blissfully as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be and mumbling things that sound like “Eliot” and “feels good” and “your hair is so soft.” Finally, Eliot scoots back up to kiss Quentin gingerly on the forehead, then pulls him against his chest. And Quentin fits perfectly, his head tucked right underneath Eliot’s chin.

Eliot kind of wants to stay up for a while and talk. Find out how long Quentin’s thought about him like this. How much time they both wasted dancing around each other when they could have been doing _this_ for God knows how long. But he’s completely exhausted, and he finds himself nodding off to sleep before saying much of anything else.

They wake up in the morning in a quite different position. Somehow Quentin’s managed to get entirely on top of Eliot, trapping him fully against the mattress. Eliot’s kind of surprised that didn’t wake him up, actually. It’s not like Quentin’s particularly heavy, but the weight of a person on top of you tends to get kind of crushing after a while.

He rolls over as best as he can to shift some of the weight off, and Quentin lazily opens his eyes.

“Hey,” Quentin says, a dopey smile across his face. God. Eliot’s heart.

“Hey.”

“I uh… guess I should get dressed.”

He starts to sit up, but Eliot grabs his hand. “Wait, don’t go. Not yet.”

Quentin tucks his hair behind his ear. “Uh, should we... do you want to talk? Or uh…”

“Yeah. That sounds like a thing we should do.” Eliot sits up so he’s leaning against the headboard. Quentin’s repositioned himself to sit on his feet facing him, and lets their joined hands fall onto Eliot’s lap.

Quentin takes a deep breath. “So I get it if you want to go back to normal, but... That was kind of the best sex I’ve ever had? And I know it was like, only a hand job but...” he laughs, reaching his free arm back behind his neck. “It was still, uh, you know. But it’s not just that, though. I... I feel like we get along really well? And I know you kind of keep up that reputation of not doing relationships, but I thought, maybe...”

He is so cute. Eliot kisses him to stop the rambling before it gets too out of hand. “Be my boyfriend,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Please, Q. I... be my boyfriend. Go on dates with me. Sleep in my bed so I can wake up to you. Hold my hand when we walk to class. All of that shit, I...”

This time Quentin shuts him up, kissing him senseless. “Fuck yes, El. I really want that.”

A while later, when the need for food finally becomes too much to ignore, they head downstairs to make breakfast. Margo’s sitting in the kitchen like she’s been waiting for them.

She takes one look at them, grins, and turns to Eliot. “I see you finally went with my original idea for your Secret Santa gift. Told you he’d love it.”


End file.
